


Desire of the Heart

by moushkas



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angelic Soulbond, Community: deancasbigbang, Crimes & Criminals, Detective Noir, F/M, M/M, Murder, Serial Killers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-19
Updated: 2012-11-19
Packaged: 2017-11-19 01:02:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/567279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moushkas/pseuds/moushkas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a string of double murders with missing hearts start showing up in the city of Savannah, Georgia, brother-detectives Sam and Dean Winchester take the case. All the clues they have is a couple of bodies and a man claiming to be an angel. What they discover is something beyond human.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Desire of the Heart

**Author's Note:**

> For the [Dean/Castiel Big Bang challenge](http://deancasbigbang.livejournal.com/)  
> Art by [cassiopeia7](http://cassiopeia7.livejournal.com/)  
> See her beautiful art [here](http://cassiopeia7.livejournal.com/241699.html)

**Desire of the Heart**

**Prologue**

August wasn’t the best month to be without an air conditioner. Especially in a hot southern town like Savannah, Georgia. Kyle had known that long before the air conditioner had broken down, back in the middle of July. Unfortunately the landlord had yet to fix the damn thing and with no other acquaintances in town, Kyle was left to suffer in the heat. He amused himself with thoughts of knocking on 6C’s door (the neighbor just across the hall and a drop dead gorgeous man) and asking to borrower some cool air. But that may have led to more than what Kyle was prepared for.

So now the man was reclining on the balcony. His deep black hair had been shaved off completely to catch the most efficient breeze and he’d stripped down to his black boxer briefs. He was still sweaty and uncomfortable but he watched the stars twinkle and fade in the clear night sky. His dark eyes moved to the moon, half gone as it entered a new phase. The paleness reminded him of 6C’s delicious pale skin, usually hidden under some tacky tee shirt and baggy pants. Kyle wanted nothing more than to lick every inch of that skin, taste the full, pink lips that were in a constant state of pouting. But most of all, he wanted to know 6C’s name.

They’d barely had a conversation. Once he recalled an awkward shuffle as 6C tried to reach for his mail and Kyle happened to be in the way. They’d chuckled and Kyle tried to introduce himself. He’d even said, “Hello, My name is Kyle.”

But 6C was already halfway up the stairs and he was left in the lobby looking foolish. Kyle chuckled at his own lack of courage. He cursed the deities above for his nerves and hoped for future opportunities. Maybe ones that involved stepping through the threshold of 6C’s door. 

He sighed dreamily, eyes closed to imagine said scenario where he swept 6C off his fragile feet and they lived happily ever after. He leaned back against the iron railing and waited for a breeze. The city was surprisingly quiet for a summer night but Kyle didn’t mind the quiet.

Kyle managed to catch the soft thump of feet landing on his porch and the soft rustle of feathers rubbing against each other. He opened his eyes, shocked by the vision perched on the railing. He fell back towards the balcony door. His hands fumbled around behind him to find anything sharp. He whispered shakily, “How...How did you get up here?”

The shadow didn’t speak, only raised on lean arm, the edges of the arm glinting like it was made entirely of a weapon and aimed for Kyle’s head. Kyle slipped through the open doorway but tripped over some raised edging and landed just inside the doorway. He cried out as the form slowly encircled the doorway, “Please. I haven’t done anything.”

The dark form chuckled harshly, took the metal edge of its arm and plunged it straight into Kyle’s chest. Kyle heard a gurgling scream and thought, for just a moment, that it was coming from 6C before darkness took over his vision. 

**Chapter One**

The door and windows were opened for a cross breeze, but the room was sweltering even with all the fans going at once. The two large desks for the two lead detectives were placed at opposite ends of the room, facing each other, with a wide space between them. There was a single chair resting next to the window. The wide open space was used to catch the cross breeze and cool down the room. But even today, there was no escaping the consuming Georgia heat. 

“Geez,” Dean Winchester was lead Detective for the Savannah Police, 30, and loved long walks on the beach. He was spending the hot afternoon fanning himself with his worn fedora. He didn’t like to wear the hat, especially with all the little teenagers running around with the exact same piece of fashion. But Dean liked the women that looked at him while he wore it. He liked what they did after he took it off even more. So he continued to make it apart of his regular uniform. Aside from the hat, Dean left his white dress shirt unbuttoned and his black tie lying across his messy desk in hopes of catching more cool air, “Why is it so hot?”

Sam Winchester, a lanky man with a mop of brown hair and full suit hovered over a mess of files on his own desk. He knew that he should cut it but he liked the feel of running his fingers through the thick mane, especially when he was concentrating on something in particular. In addition to his inclination to muddle up his tresses, he had propensity for deep sighs and deeper frowns. An expression which he was currently exercising in the face of his brother’s asinine question, “Because it’s August in Georgia. It’s like this every year.”

Dean groaned, leaning further back in his chair. He kicked aside loose paper, watching them scatter in the faint breeze before falling to the floor, “Tell me why we’re still here in Georgia then? Why can’t we migrate north for the winter?”

“Because all cases would go unsolved, murderers and rapists would run rampant in the street and Savannah would burn to the ground.” Sam groaned at the mess across their floor. He set his pen down and glared at his older brother, “You know, instead of complaining, you could help me file this last report.”

Dean glared at his younger brother with bright, green eyes. He rolled them before twirling the chair around, “Nope.”

Sam sighed, “You could do like I had asked and transfer those completed case files into the computer.”

Dean gave him another flat look, “I don’t think so.”

“Then go buy an air conditioner.” Sam huffed, “Just do something constructive.”

It was then that an officer stepped through the door. Dean was honestly not envious of those unbearable uniforms, especially in this heat. The officer sighed, wiping sweat from his brow, “Call came in on St. George. Chief said it sounded like ‘you’re kind of problem’.”

Dean heaved a great sigh as he pulled himself up from the chair. He grabbed the sports coat that was hanging over the back of the chair and laid it over the one arm. He checked for his gun and badge, already clipped to his belt and grabbed the keys hanging from the doorway, “We’re on our way.”

Sam nodded, badge and gun in hand and following his shorter brother out the door. The officer handed Sam a folded up piece of paper with the address on it and waived the two detectives off. They were at the elevator, ready to leave the floor when a roar of laughter was heard from down the hall.

Dean pressed the elevator button angrily, cursing the officers that were probably cracking jokes at the Winchester’s expense. He never liked that phrase, ‘their kind of problem’ but after six years of work in the force, Dean couldn’t escape his reputation. Sam was dragged along merely by association.

‘Their kind of problem’ meant that the officers took one look at the crime scene and freaked out. It meant that the body looked weird, the crime scene had something strange in it, the history of the victim was bizarre; i.e. too freaky to be normal. Crimes like that weren’t too popular around the precinct or even in the city. They made people uncomfortable and question the reality of the world they lived in. But it made for great headlines.

The Winchester Brothers, made up of Dean, the older and experienced detective, and Sam, the fresh-faced detective with a degree in pre-law, were experts in the ‘unsolvable’. The ones that were unusual, twisted and most likely ended up in a cold case box. Cannibals, torture chambers, and bodies with no blood were their usual crimes, and the Winchesters had a 99 percent success rate with those crimes. With a high achievement rate and being two very handsome men, their faces often ended up on the front page of headlines.

However, with a father that publicly spouted the existence of the supernatural, being the go-to detectives for weird crimes only made the Winchester Brothers seem as delusional as their father. The precinct liked to remind them that they weren’t heroes but scapegoats.

\---

Kyle A. Daniels’s apartment was just one of the many bachelor pads prominent on the outskirts of the business district in Savannah. It wasn’t where the rich or even the middle class lived but it certainly wasn’t the projects like Sam and Dean were use to. Even worse, the crime scene looked like a standard break-and-enter gone wrong.

Glass and objects were spread across the floor as if the killer was searching for something specific. There was some broken pottery around the kitchen area and it looked like a knife was missing. Further investigating from the first responders showed a box filled with old jewelry had been thrown to the floor. For sure some the really expensive items had been stolen; or that’s what the general consensus was for the crime scene.

The body of Kyle A Daniels laid across the main living area, about a foot or so from the balcony doorway. He was face up, glazed over eyes pointed to the ceiling. His arms were spread wide but there was evidence of swelling in the wrists as if he’d fallen on them and the limbs were then moved to the current T position he was in. Looking at the hands, Dean noticed blood at the finger tips, his nails jagged as if they’d been used to scratch the assailant. Clearly, Mr. Daniels had gotten a shot in on the killer, though there were no defensive wounds. 

The chest cavity was the weirdest part. It was split open, the innards of Mr. Daniels showing clear as day. The rib had been forced open by something, the edges of the bones were jagged as if it had been sawed open. All of the organs and nerves were accounted for inside the gaping cavity except his heart, which had been ripped out.

Dean assumed the missing knife was used to cut the man’s chest open, at least to carve through the flesh. However, there was no way a kitchen knife could carve through bone, not in the time the killer had to kill Mr. Daniels and tear up the apartment. Whatever was used to break the bones still stumped Dean. The coroner had no idea either but said he would run tests once they were back in the lab. Dean showed him the bloody fingertips and the coroner scraped the edges for DNA.

Once Sam completed his interview with the eye witness, the landlord that was coming to check the air conditioner, he joined Dean on the porch, “Well, standard report. He didn’t hear anything even though the window was opened and he’s just below Daniels. Came in to check the air condition and found the body and the place a mess. There haven’t been any reports of a break in but he said a few women were complaining about a ‘peeping tom’ the night before.”

Dean nodded, staring at the railing. Kyle A. Daniels lived one flight up from the ground but there was a fire escape that could have been used. It hadn’t been pulled though and Crime Scene Unit said there were no finger prints except Daniels’ own but Dean was inclined to think the criminal had used the emergency staircase to get to the apartment. Dean knew that experienced thieves used gloves and made sure not to leave any evidence behind.

He rubbed at his eyes, wiping the sweat that gathered at the brow, “So the guy scales the building in hopes of a break-in. He’s shocked that Daniels is here. Daniels fumbles back into the apartment to call 9-1-1 and that’s when the criminal stabs him in the chest.”

“With no other puncture wounds,” Sam poised himself as if he were Daniels, “He had to be stabbed in the front. So he was facing the attacker.”

Dean nodded along and added his own explanation, “Okay, so the attacker is shocked, Daniels is scooting away. He trips and falls on the ground and the attacker stabs him.”

“So the thief must already have another knife in hand before entering the apartment.” Dean frowned at Sam’s explanation. Sam seemed confused by his own depiction of the crime scene as he tried to form another scenario of the crime, “Or was the fall enough to knock Daniels out and the culprit retrieved the knife after.”

Dean circled the tapped scene and Sam’s own body lying right next to the area. He followed the pathway from the balcony to where Daniels was finally killed. He seemed confused and leaned down next to Sam. He scratched his chin as he whispered to his younger brother, “I don’t think the fall knocked him out. Maybe the killer had a knife, one that could cut through skin and bone and he just took the missing butcher knife for show?”

“Like the killer is trying to make it look like a Break-in that led to murder when it was actually premeditated?” Sam shrugged at his own suggestion. The case was starting to look more like ‘their thing’ but it still wasn’t unusual enough to tickle Dean’s curiosity. The murder just wasn’t weird enough, “Why did they even call us out here? We could have passed this case on to Garth.”

“Because this is only the first body that was found.” The coroner sighed, snapping the rubber gloves off his hand. He gestured to the on-sight EMTs, “Go ahead and take this back to the lab, guys. I’m done with the preliminary stuff. Boys,” He gestured to Sam and Dean, “follow me.”

They crossed the short hallway, feeling the floor boards creak beneath their feet. The coroner led them into the apartment right next door. The crime scene was clean. Clean of everything including blood but right in the middle of the walkway from the kitchen to the couch was a body. The man was thin and pale, more than what death would do. His light hair was spread messily across the tiled floor and his blue eyes were glazed over with death. He was in the same T shaped position, same open chest wound, but ash covered the pristine ground around the body.

“What the hell?” Dean gapped at the body.

The coroner heaved a great sigh and rubbed at his gray hair. He reached into his back pocket to retrieve a second pair of gloves, “Meet A.J. Shepard. 27 year old librarian. Time of death is the same time as the stiff across the hall. We’re talking the exact same time. Same cause of death, missing heart, open chest cavity. Only...”

“No blood,” Sam interrupted.

The coroner nodded, “No blood and no sign that the body had been moved either.”

Dean scoffed at that, “No way. He probably was across the hall and dragged here.”

The coroner frowned, “This is a 200 pound man. Dragging him would have taken effort and left a mark at the wrist. There are no marks anywhere on Mr. Shepard’s body, except for the open sternum.”

“What’s that?” Sam fingered the dirt delicately, careful not to smudge the pattern that spread across the ground and up the walls. He circled the body and tilted his head to get the best view.

“What do you see, dude?” Dean quickly jotted down notes, no sign of a break-in, no sign of a struggle, no sign of blood, finger prints or anything to show that this was also a crime scene. Save for the dead body of course.

Sam gasped, hazel eyes wide in a mixture of shock and confusion, “They’re wings.”

**Chapter Two**

“Do you think it’s the same murderer?” Sam said, mouth full of lettuce. Dean rolled his eyes at his younger brother as he chomped down on a plate full of fries.

Dean shrugged, “Maybe a pairing, one kills the first, takes the key to get to the second.” 

Dean dipped the fry twice in a large glob of ketchup. Sam made a face as Dean practically inhaled it. He poked at a cherry tomato, watching the juice dribble out from the puncture wound. There was something off about the double homicide. Everything about it just seemed a tad too ‘their kind of problem’.

He stabbed the tomato all the way through and brought it to his mouth, “The landlord said the two didn’t know each other. Spoke a few times in the hall and that’s it. And why would the killer steal Daniels’ jewels but not anything in Shepard’s apartment? And where did all the blood go?”

Dean scratched his head, “Man, I don’t know. We’ll pick up investigation tomorrow. We can give the coroner some time to look at the body. Maybe the killer drained the blood or something.”

Sam frowned, “You are not suggesting vampires are you.”

Dean gave Sam a serious look, one that spoke volumes of how tired he was of these types of conversations. It was the same look their father often gave Sam as well. It was a face Sam could fight with his own, wide-eyed, puppy dog stare of ‘you’re stupid’. Dean turned away from Sam for a moment to compose himself, “Look, I know Dad got...”

“Crazy, Dean.” Sam hissed, “Crazy. He went insane. He talked about vampires and werewolves and demons like they were real, like there was some secret society of monsters that only he knew about.”

“You don’t know if he was wrong, Sammy.” Dean rolled his eyes, voice calm and relaxed like he was trying to ease a child down from a temper tantrum. That only riled Sam up more.

“He raised us like we were in some post apocalyptic war zone. He died alone and delusional, Dean.” Sam was huffing, lungs filled with hot air and feelings that were best left unexpressed.

Dean laid down the fry he’d been picking at and gave Sam that same daunting expression he always did when he was tired of their fights, “What are you still doing here, man?” The talent Dean had for segues was gold medal level of impressiveness, “Now, I’m a single bachelor with no pretty wife to cook me dinner or listen to me rag on my pathetic childhood. I can be in this seedy diner with greasy food. But you,” Dean picked up the fry and shook it at Sam, “You have this beautiful new wife that is waiting for you to come home and rub your feet while you bitch about life.”

Sam sighed, letting go of the repressed anger. Thinking of Jess usually did that for him. So, instead of getting upset with his brother for distracting him, he set his fork down, pushed his chair away from the table and actually listened to the man for once. Dean smiled, “That’s my boy.”

\---

The next day was not fun for Dean. He was nursing a horrendous hangover and painful scratches from the wildcat he took home the night before. He liked his life as a bachelor, especially nights like last night. Though, he was a little jealous when Sam walked in with the same goofy expression. He rolled his eyes, “Did she give you a sympathetic blow job to ease your man-pain?”

Sam threw him a sour look, “You’re a jerk.”

Dean just laughed.

There was a knock on the door and the same officer from yesterday was there again with a post-it, “We’ve got another one.”

Dean rolled his eyes and stood, fixing the suit jacket and flinching when his shirt rubbed up against the scratch marks, “Another mysterious body?”

“Two,” The officer sighed, “Same M.O. as the pair yesterday, One found in an alley on North Victory, the other in his dorm room at the arts college.”

They both gave him a strange look. Those were the opposite sides of town, the opposite types of people, and possibly 5 to 6 years younger than Daniels and Shepard. Already the killer had established a pattern and broken it. Dean growled at the officer, “You said same M.O. How much older are these new stiffs?”

The officer shrugged, “The chief just said it’s your thing. Take the damn post-it and let me get back to my job.”

Dean glared at the officer but Sam had already taken the post it and was pushing Dean back to the car, “Come on, Dean. Let’s get to work.”

\---

They went to the art student first. He was a dark looking man with heavy make up around his dark colored eyes and blue streaks in his hair. Dean wasn’t sure but this boy was probably what they called ‘Emo’. His room was filled with paintings of graphic violence and death; there were decorations around the room that had the same feeling. There was even a cat skull lying on the ground next to the open window. 

The body laid in the center of the mess, chest cavity ripped wide open and still smoking. His heart was missing like the other two bodies, and there was an ash line that created two wings spreading out from the body. The only difference, and perhaps was a vital clue, was the strange silver weapon gripped tightly in the man’s hand.

The coroner, the same older man from before but this time in a lab coat, slacks and a polo, smiled at them, “Boys, meet Azriel Jones, 18 and freshman at the Savannah School of Art and Design. He’s victim number one, I suppose.”

“Azriel?” Dean scoffed, “What kind of name is that?”

“Latin,” Sam muttered as he traced the expanse of the wings again, “It's the name of the angel of destruction.”

Dean rolled his eyes, “Nerd.”

Sam glared but returned to his scouting of the body, “What are we looking at, Doctor?”

The man rolled his shoulders, “Same diagnosis. Something cut through skin and bone, burned him this time, and then the heart was ripped out. Mr. Jones died while his chest was being cut open. Exsanguination.”

Dean was circling the window, broken glass and the pane had been forced open. Once again there were no foot prints to trace the killer but there was evidence of a fight. Nothing was stolen this time but the art had been mostly ripped from the walls. He frowned, circling back around to the body, “Any connection between this guy and either of the other bodies.”

Sam shrugged, “I’ll go ask the R.A.”

Dean nodded and watched as the coroner examined the body again. The man suddenly grinned, “Hello!” He raised the kid’s hand, “and here we have some hair follicles.”

Dean rushed to the coroner’s side, watching as he took an evidence bag and carefully dropped each hair into it. If Dean looked really closely, he could tell that the hairs were a light blonde and clearly did not belong to the victim.

“So can you run it for a possible DNA?” 

The coroner shrugged, “If the killer is in the system, I can match it. But I highly doubt it.”

Dean sighed, “Another one for the books, I suppose.”

The coroner laughed, “You boys are paying my daughter’s way through Berkley. You should be proud.”

Dean chucked and stood, surveying the scene again. He stared down at the weapon gripped tightly in the victim’s hand. At first glance it looked like a small silver javelin, coming to a point with all edges rounded. But, as Dean looked closer and gently moved the wrist, he found the handle was made of the same silver material. 

Curious, he touched the edges of the weapon, feeling a hot spark shoot up from his finger tips. He stepped back quickly, shouting in alarm. The coroner approached him quickly, asking if Dean was alright and what had happened. Dean gripped his hand tightly, the appendage still tingling. He looked at the coroner. His mouth was moving and he was grabbing Dean’s wrist but Dean couldn’t hear or feel him. The tingling invaded all of his senses and disoriented him. There was a soft ringing in his ears that was growing louder. 

“What?” Dean shouted, “I can’t hear you?”

The coroner gripped his wrist tightly, thumbs digging into Dean’s veins. The ringing stopped and slowly, the feeling came back in his limbs. The coroner was shouting, “Are you okay?”

Sam was back in the room and gripping Dean’s shoulder tightly, “Dean, what happened?”

“I...” Dean sighed, “I touched the thing, the weapon and it shocked me.”

Sam frowned, turning back to the silver weapon that was now loose in the victim’s grasp. He touched it lightly with a gloved hand, waiting for a shock. When nothing happened, Sam grasped the handle and carried it to an evidence bag. When it was sealed he turned to Dean, “Were you touching evidence without gloves again?”

Dean frowned and raised the still tingling hand, showing the rubber glove that was still on there. Sam frowned, looking back at the weapon with more curiosity, “What is this thing?”

The coroner sighed, “Beats the hell out of me, if you don’t mind, there’s a body slowly rotting in an alley on Victory that is calling for me.”

The two brothers followed him out, Dean smiled. “We’ll drive you. We’re heading there anyways.”

\--

The alley on Victory where the body was found was considered the projects. Crime was rampant in the area along with poverty and illiteracy. Dean was actually kind of impressed that a death was even reported in this area. Most people just reported the gunshots.

This alley was like every other alley along Victory. It was a dark, muddy place between a Chinese restaurant and a convenience store, with a pizzeria and a nail salon on its back end. There was a single dumpster at one end and then a mountain of crates at the other side. In between was the body of a dark skinned young man. His chest had been ripped open and the heart missing. 

Dean took off his hat for a moment, rubbing his head, “This is a mess.”

Sam heaved a sigh, “No connection to anyone at all. Daniels and Shepard lived next door to each other but they have no connection with Jones or-”

“Jarrod Taylor,” The coroner intervened from above the body. 

“Jarrod Taylor,” Sam continued, “Didn’t know any of the other victims.”

“Is it random?” Dean sighed. Taylor looked hardly more than sixteen and unless Daniels and Shepard were having some freaky pedophilia thoughts, there was no reason to be associated with a kid from the streets. Jones was a college student, an art major and by the clothes that he wore, he wasn’t struggling to survive. So what was the connection?”

“No,” Sam flipped through his notepad, reviewing notes from his previous interviews, “I think he was aiming for someone, or at least two people in particular. Maybe he had to take out the other two to cover up his tracks.”

“The first two I could understand,” Dean interjected, “But how can he kill a boy halfway across town at the same time?”

Sam released a gust of air, body slumping in a show of his frustrations, “Dude, I don’t know.”

“What the hell?” Dean frowned.

\---

Dean rubbed his head, frustrated after a long, lonely night of reviewing the notes. He’d gone over every single scene, every single detail of the bodies over a bottle of whiskey the night before. He had spent the first half of the night trying to find a connection between the four victims. The second half was spent analyzing the weapon found on Jones. Nothing made sense and without witnesses to any of the crimes, they were falling fast into a dead end.

Sam came in an hour after Dean, the same disappointed face that Dean had, features pulled tight. He placed a cup of black coffee on Dean’s desk and took a seat at his own, turning on the television that was tucked away next to Sam’s computer. Dean grumbled, “Rough night.”

Sam loosened his tie, which was a clear sign of ‘yes’. Sam groaned as well, “I spent all night going over all the notes. I don’t know how the killer chose his victims. How did he kill them at the same time? Why?!”

Dean patted Sam on the back, “Maybe we’re looking at two killers?”

Sam shook his head, “There’s no way two people could have the coordination to commit the exact same crime at the exact same time. The wounds were the exact same and the second body of each crime didn’t have any blood. It couldn’t have been two people.”

Dean shrugged, “Maybe we finally found a case that stumped even us.”

“I won’t give up.” Sam turned to the television, turning it up slightly as a news report flashed across the screen.

Dean sighed heavily and moved the papers into some semblance of a nice pile, “Come on, dude. We have no leads, no witnesses and even worse-”

“There’s another body,” Sam sighed. He turned up the small television and gestured for Dean to come closer. When Dean didn’t, Sam frowned, “It’s a report from California. There was a body found in the Sutro Library in San Francisco. There was a hole in his chest, heart missing...” Sam paused as he watched the reports. An imaged flashed, one of the crime scene where ash covered the ground and a slim silver sword laid abandoned on the ground, “That’s the same weapon!”

Dean frowned, “What?” He stood and came closer, eyeing the report. He caught the glimpse of the weapon. He thought for a long while before turning to Sam, “Where’s the other body then?”

Sam made a face, the one that was confused and slightly concerned, “Maybe he’s breaking pattern?”

Dean shook his head, “Doubtful.”

There was a soft knock on the door that called the two detectives to turn. Dean was the first to spot the man in the doorway. At first glimpse, Dean was sure a drunken streaker had stumbled into their office. The man had some overgrown trench coat covering most of his body. The parts that were showing were unclothed and revealing pale skin. He was barefoot though it didn’t seem to bother him. His hair was a black mess, pieces falling all over his face. He stood ramrod straight, just like a statue, with his bright blue eyes staring right at Dean.

“Can we help you?” Sam asked after a beat. The man continued to stare at Dean, catching Dean’s green gaze. His expression was serious; full pink lips hidden by a thick 5 o’clock shadow were set in a grim line. Dean found himself lost in a haze, like the world was narrowing down to this man’s bright blue eyes and nothing else. Dean licked his lips, tasting the anxiety in the air.

Sam coughed in hopes of getting their attention, “Um...excuse me?”

The strain was broken when Jo Harvelle, a newbie in the police force pushed through the man to enter the room, “Guys, there’s a body at the University Library. It’s 100 percent your thing, you need to go.” It was as if Jo needed a moment to process the strange man standing behind her, or possibly she didn’t feel the pressure until after she entered the room. She froze for a second and slowly looked back at the man standing in their doorway, eyeing him, “Who’s this guy?”

The man’s intense gaze moved from Dean to Jo, sliding through the air like a blade. It cut the tension building up in Dean’s lungs and he found himself breathing deeply once Jo was the center of that laser focus, “I am Castiel.”

Dean shuddered at the gravelly lowness of the man’s voice. It was like heady wine over rocks; liquid, addictive, and smooth with such a deep rumble that it vibrated down Dean’s spine. He gripped the edges of Sam’s desk to right himself and blushed when he realized he was semi hard in his pants. He was trying to clear his vocal chords to speak but Jo seemed to take over for him. She asked sweetly, in the way she was trained to handle possibly loose cannons, “Okay, do you have a last name Castiel.”

“Not yet.” He spoke clearly, every consonant announced like it was a miracle to be speaking, like he’d just learned to how to use his own voice.

Jo smiled, hands raised in a peaceful manner, “My name is Jo Harvelle, how can we help you?”

“I’m here to speak to the Winchesters about the murder.” The man looked down on Jo like she was a child. He stepped up to her, eyes focused on hers, face grim and stiff, “I do not own any marbles, how could I have lost them?”

She gasped, eyes wide, “I didn’t say-”

“And your father was right, Samuel Winchester.” The man, Castiel, turned his electric gaze on Sam. Sam stiffened in his seat, “Demons killed your mother and they tried to get to you. We did not have enough time to save her.”

“We?” Sam choked out, his voice airy and soft like he couldn’t get enough air, like Castiel was sucking it out of his body.

“My brothers and I,” Castiel nodded, “I’m an angel of the lord.”

It was then that Dean came back to himself. He could breathe again, his blood moved in his veins once more and thoughts, a thousand of them, screamed in his mind. He realized that a conversation like this was best left in private, “Okay, Jo I think you need to leave.”

She rounded on him, “No, the chief said it was your kind of case. And you were going to have to call California after you check out the scene.”

Dean sighed, “Alright, alright. Sam goes, I’ll stay with Cas.”

“Dean.” Sam hissed.

“Castiel,” the man corrected, a muttered response over the sudden retort against Dean’s decisions.

Dean took Sam by the shoulder, leading him and Jo outside of the office, “Take Jo if you need a second set of eyes. She’s taken a few classes in investigation; she’ll bring some fresh ideas to the case.”

Sam tried to protest but Dean slammed the door in his face, which left him alone with the half naked ‘angel’. Dean tried not to give his dick any ideas but the thing was already dancing its way to life just at the sight of the man.

Castiel was circling Dean’s desk, fingers trailing over the edges lightly. Dean watched the gentle movement with rapt attention. He groaned when the ‘angel’ caressed the pencils that had been in Dean’s mouth. Castiel found Dean’s discarded tie lying over his chair. The man picked it up, stroking each piece of stitching. He raised the black silk to his mouth, kissing it lightly. Dean stiffened, in all terms of the word, and stared at the ‘angel’. 

Castiel raised his eyes to Dean, “You’re father bought you this tie. He loves you very much.”

That kind of crazy reality snapped Dean into action, “Okay, what the hell is going on?”

Castiel eased around the desk and sat in Dean’s chair. Dean tried not to think about the man’s bare ass touching his chair. It was both too erotic and too bizarre to think about. The angel rested his hands flat on the chair then turned his soul-searching look on Dean, “I’ve come to assist with the murders.”

Dean walked closer to the man, “You know who is doing it?”

“In a way,” Castiel brushed aside some dust that was on the desk. They lapsed into quiet, the space of the desk between them. The length of silence was long enough to lead Dean into thinking about Castiel’s naked body. How long had he been walking unclothed? Castiel tilted his head to the side, “Is my state of undress bothering you?”

Dean growled, “Do you read minds or something?”

Castiel’s eyes narrowed just slightly, as if he were reading Dean’s mind at that moment, “No, your face is flushed and you’re erect.”

Dean scrambled to the other side of the room, pulling an old file to cover his erection, “Okay so what do you mean ‘in a way’?”

“I do not know who is killing the angels and their mates but-”

“Wait, wait, what?” Dean interrupted, waiving his hands wildly. What kind of loony bin did this man crawl out of?

Castiel puffed his chest up, “Angels and their mates are dying. Someone is killing them.”

Dean eased down in the spare chair by the window. He exhaled slowly, trying to understand the full weight of everything Castiel just said, “Angels...”

“Yes.”

“They exist?”

“Yes.”

Dean scoffed, bitterly laughing away how crazy all of this sounded. He waived Castiel off, “No way are angels real. Listen, where are you from? I think you skipped one too many medicine rounds.”

Castiel frowned...no, he was pouting. And Dean tried not to think that it was adorable, “I am not crazy.”

“Angels aren’t real, Cas.” Dean frowned, “Neither are demons or fairies.”

Castiel stared at Dean for a moment before he rose slowly. Dean watched. Thunder clouds rolled in from somewhere and the room grew dark. Dean looked out the window, the cloudless day suddenly turned dark and rainy. The wind was howling through the open window and blowing papers and objects around the room. In the center was Castiel, solid and still.

Lightning flashed, cutting the electricity and bathing the room in darkness. The flash of lightning created shadows against the walls. Dean frowned, eyes focusing on the walls behind Castiel. The shadows were wings, slowly spreading out into a grand wingspan. Dean swallowed thickly and shouted, “Okay, You’re an angel.”

The wind died down, the clouds broke and the lights in the precinct kicked back on again. Castiel sat back in Dean’s chair. If Dean wasn’t near shitting his pants, he’d say Castiel was looking smug. Instead he rubbed his head nervously and tried not to look directly at the angel as he got his thoughts in order.

Castiel breathed softly, “As I said. Angels and their mates are dying. Someone is killing them to get to me.”

Dean frowned, “What?”

Castiel sighed, “The angels that have died. They were...of my garrison, brothers that were very close, if you will, and they were all still seeking their mates. I think whoever is killing them is trying to get to me.” He stood then and approached Dean. Dean tried to not feel uncomfortable as the angel took his hand, “I need your help stopping him.”

Dean nodded dumbly, with the full weight of Castiel’s eyes on him and that adorable lost and pleading look, Dean had no choice. He always liked damsels in distress. He smiled coyly, “Fine, but we have to get you some clothes first.”

\---

Clothing was easy; the angel wasn’t picky at all. First shop they went into, a suit shop a block from the precinct, Castiel had just grabbed the first mannequin and began taking his clothes. The store clerk was nice enough to allow Castiel to take the clothes but Dean was pretty sure he overcharged them for it.

With fresh clothes, a regular pant suit, white dress shirt, blue tie and sports coat underneath the trench coat, the angel was almost ready to fit in to normal life. Dean says almost because Castiel looked like a Columbo cos-player that had a rough day.

With a quick call to Sam asking if he was still at the scene, Dean drove his personal car to the crime scene at Savannah State. Castiel seemed focus as they walked through the row of bystanders to get to the sectioned-off area. Dean kept a close eye on him even though he knew the angel would stray. And how strange was that that Dean knew Castiel wouldn’t wander away from him.

He found Sam leaning up against a bookshelf just in front of the scene. The man was going through his notes until he spotted Dean. He eyed Castiel warily as they moved closer, “Well, this one you’ll like.”

“Yeah,” Dean smiled, “Why do you say that?”

Sam gestured for Dean to follow into the aisle, Castiel followed close behind Dean, practically breathing down Dean’s back. Or maybe Dean was just sensitive to everything the angel did. Which was strange, so Dean tried not to think about it.

They approached the body of a young adult male, one that was just barely legal to drink. His fire red hair was spiked, edges dipped in his blood. His chest was open and the heart was missing like usual but the exposed skin of the body wasn’t human. Dean approached the body slowly, concentrating on the edges of the exposed skin, “Are those...”

“Scales, according to the coroner,” Sam sighed, “And the doctor said there was salt water in the boy’s lungs.”

“He’s a merman,” Castiel muttered from beyond Sam, “Abraham Stonewall. He gave me this coat.”

Dean looked back up at the angel and watched his eyes turn sad. The angel slumped forward, the weight of loss suddenly evident on him. Dean felt the urge to hug the angel tight, to take away all the pain...and seriously, what the hell was going on with him?

“A merman?” Sam snorted.

Dean cut him off right away, “That’s what I gotta tell you, man. Cas was telling the truth.”

“Castiel.” The angel muttered his correction, though it went ignored.

“I think you’ve gone crazy,” Sam frowned.

Dean took his little brother by his broad shoulders, “Look, we’ll talk about this later. You know, some place less public. But Cas needs our help. He said that whatever is killing these guys is after him.”

Sam’s eyes widened in shock, “Oh, okay.”

Immediately Dean knew his brother was on his side and that felt good. So they returned to the crime at hand, rushing through the rest of their dual observations so that they could find a place to talk. Once Dean had taken a full survey he turned back to his brother, “So the only think knew is the salt water in the lungs and the scales?”

“Oh,” Sam jerked into a brisk run. He took the length of the bookshelves in big strides, Dean and Castiel followed behind him at a slower pace, “Jo found something.”

Along the back wall of the library were rows of desks and walls painted into pretty patterns to brighten the otherwise dusty area. Across the wall, right underneath the painted caricature of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, was words scribbled in blood and a hand print off to the side.

“Innovis ...Io...” Dean struggled to read. The words scrawled across the wall were not English. They were, in fact, in a language that Dean was familiar with but not an expert in.

“Jovis est mortuus.” Sam read, “It’s Latin for-”

“Thursday is dead,” Castiel interrupted. He looked to the print along the side of the words. It was a hand, large and extended to make a perfect handprint. Castiel approached it carefully, fingers brushing along the edges of the marking. He gasped and pulled his hand away quickly, “I have to go.”

He disappeared in the blink of an eye, shocking both Dean and Sam. Dean sighed, “I told you he was an angel.”

“I guess.” Sam gapped at the empty space, “Wonder why he rushed off.”

Dean didn’t want to talk about it. It had to do something with whatever terror was coming after Castiel. Dean felt fear in his heart, a heavy anxiety that was difficult to shake. Dean wasn’t sure if it was fear for Castiel or fear of what they may have gotten themselves into. Either way, he wasn’t going to think about it anymore.

“So, did we get anything off of the hand print?” Dean stepped forward to get a better look at the hand print. The mark was smooth, no ridges or lines in the print. He stepped closer to see if there were any lines at all.

“No,” Sam sighed, “And not like there were partial prints either. There was nothing identifiable with the print. Not even glove marks.”

“Like the killer painted the thing on there?”

Sam nodded frantically, “Exactly but it didn’t even have obvious brush strokes.”

Dean sighed heavily, no wonder why Castiel got the hell out of there. He rubbed his forehead, hoping to ease away what would be a potential migraine, “Sammy, I don’t think the killer is human.”

Sammy snorted, “Did the angel tell you that?”

“No smart comments, let’s go.” Dean and Sam left the crime scene behind, allowing the body to be moved. Dean hoped he’d see the angel again. Castiel rushed off with pure fear in his eyes, fear that resonated deep within Dean. He was afraid of something and if an angel was terrified, Dean couldn’t imagine what kind of monster they were up against.

**Chapter Three**

“Welcome back Sam and Dean,” Jessica chuckled from the kitchen when both detectives entered the apartment. Sam hung up his and Dean’s jackets in the closet then took Dean’s hat and placed it on the door handle. It was routine for Dean to come over to the newly wed’s apartment for dinner. Jessica, Sam’s new wife, didn’t seem to mind it either.

“Hey Jess,” Sam entered the kitchen while Dean placed a large amount of files on the table. Jessica, a perky blonde that graduated with Sam and was currently a kindergarten teacher, was making a roast. Sam paused in the kitchen entry way when he noticed that Jessica wasn’t alone, “Jess?”

She turned to Sam with a bright smile, “Hey handsome. I just met Dean’s friend, Castiel.”

Sam smiled nervously, “Um...friend is a lose term.”

Jessica frowned at him, “Don’t be rude.”

Castiel moved away from a mixing bowl and looked up at Sam, “Thank you for inviting me into your home, Sam. You’re mate is very lovely.”

Sam frowned. He wanted to correct Castiel and say ‘wife’. After all, mate sounded so primal, “Um, yeah...Can I talk to you in the living room, Cas.”

Jessica frowned, “Is this about that angel business? I already know.”

Sam gulped audibly, “Dean can you come in here?”

Dean grumbled on the walk into the kitchen and froze. It was hard to identify the expression Dean was making. It was something between shock and relief and it left Sam wondering what kind of things the two talked about while they were alone in the office. Dean rushed up to Castiel and grasped his upper arm, “What happened to you?”

Castiel’s whole body seemed to loosen at Dean’s touch. He slumped forward towards the burlier man and his eyes grew lighter, brighter when they fell on Dean’s face, “I had to confirm something with my superior. I am sorry.”

Dean’s body seemed to relax as well, leaning forward into Castiel like he couldn’t stay away any longer. Sam frowned, watching the whole ordeal like it was some horrible, wonderful train wreck, “As long as you’re fine.”

Jessica smiled lightly as she watched the two. She planted a kiss on Sam’s cheek then grinned, “Okay, Dean why don’t you and Castiel go into the living room. Sam will help me with dinner.”

Sam turned on Jessica then, “What the hell, Jess? You’re just accepting this crazy story?”

Jessica smiled, “Of course. Castiel found me after my second reincarnation. Well, he found my egg. He told me to pursue my mate.” She threw a saucy grin at Sam. The two humans gave her an odd look, surprised by this side of Jessica they never knew. She smiled at the two then ushered Dean and Castiel out of the kitchen, “Go on now, I have to speak with my husband.”

Dean led Castiel into the living room, his hand slipping down to grasp Castiel’s wrist. Dean watched the angel closely, “What was she talking about?”

“Janiel...Jessica is a phoenix. She was horribly injured by a demon and had to go through her reincarnation cycle to recover. I found her egg and took care of her. After she regained her strength She joined the garrison. She retired when she found her mate, Sam.” Castiel sat awkwardly in the couch, brushing the soft fabric gently. Dean felt the urge to grasp that hand, bring it to his face and kiss it. But Dean resisted, ignoring the fact that he was still gripping Castiel’s other wrist.

“You keep saying that word, ‘mate’. The killer is taking out angels and their mates. What does that mean?” Dean leaned back into the couch next to Castiel, their shoulders brushing. Dean had to resist melting into Castiel, seeking the warmth and comfort that he provided naturally. He chose, instead, to focus on Castiel’s face and refused to move.

“Creatures like myself, Angels, phoenix, demons, we chose partners purely on instinct. We’re tied to one other soul in this world and we spend our lives looking for them. Sometimes we never find them and sometimes,” Castiel’s eyes fell on Dean, bright and full of something Dean was too afraid to identify, “Sometimes we find them and we’re too afraid to do anything.”

Dean looked at Castiel, feeling a tightness in his chest that left him breathless, “And this killer?”

Starring into Castiel’s eyes was like watching the stars in the sky. There was just endless blue and an unimaginable amount of twinkling light. Dean liked gazing into them, he liked the weightless, breathtaking feeling he got when he was looking at Castiel. Dean idly wondered what that meant for him.

“We’re tied to our mates even before we meet them. The bond is stronger after we meet each other and the pair decides to go through the bonding process. But, from the beginning of our creation, our hearts are tied together.” Dean stared at Castiel. The angel looked dreamy, he pressed his hand against his chest, right where his heart would be, “We are immortal, we never die unless the heart of our mate is taken. It has to be completely removed from the body and a particular weapon must be used, one that can kill an angel.”

Dean stared at Castiel, taking in all the information. The bodies, every single one had had their chest’s ripped open but Dean couldn’t recall at the moment if a heart had been stolen. He’d have to call the coroner, “What does this have to do with the bodies?”

Castiel turned to Dean with solemn eyes once more, his hand still pressing against his heart, “There is only one type of weapon that can kill a creature like myself. It’s only carried by other angels but sometimes a mate can call forth that power. I’ve heard its because the sword is wielded by the desire of the heart. An Angel and their Mate are connected by the heart. This killer is cutting open an Angel’s mate and ripping out their hearts to ensure the angel dies. The victims are people that I have met in my lifetime. He’s murdering them because I met them.”

“Do you know why?” Dean asked quietly, fingers tightening around Castiel’s wrist. Things were coming together, thoughts and ideas about what all this was really about. Dean felt cold fear again, realization dousing all the warm heat that Castiel’s closeness brought him.

Castiel’s hand moved, taking Dean’s hand in his and lacing their fingers together, “I do now.”

“Dinner’s ready,” Jessica grinned brightly, carrying a plate of meet to the table. Sam followed behind her with a bowl of vegetables in one hand and mash potatoes in the other, “We can talk about the case after dinner. Castiel, you have never tried my roast, have you?”

Castiel did not drop Dean’s hand but stood and pulled the human to his feet, “I have not, Jessica. I would like to try.”

“Good,” Jessica grinned, “Pull up a seat.”

\---

Finding Castiel a place to stay for the night was easier than Dean liked to admit. It was Jessica’s idea, which always means she’s plotting something, to have the angel stay with Dean. He’d recently acquired a guest bedroom that still had Sam’s old futon in it. Dean tried not to notice the way the girl...the phoenix winked at the angel. 

Getting Castiel a spare change of clothes for bed, a Led Zeppelin shirt and Dean’s old police academy sweats, showing him around the apartment and actually bidding him goodnight was too comfortable, almost too domestic. Dean actually hesitated at Castiel’s door, wondering what the hollow pit in his stomach was when he realized they wouldn’t share a bed.

The most difficult thing about all of this was when Dean finally laid down to sleep and felt cold. He looked to his side, curious as to why the bed felt so big and lonely all of the sudden. He sighed, reaching out and running his fingers along the other side of his king size bed. His eyes fell on the bedroom door. Just beyond the door, right across the hall was Castiel, lying in his clothing, hopefully thinking about Dean.

Dean sat up quickly, cold realization in his mind. He leapt from his bed and stomped across the hall. He stormed into the guest bedroom, prepared to demand explanation. He needed to know what was happening to him, the cold sweats, the fluttery feeling in his gut, the desire to be close to the angel. But Castiel was asleep, curled around one of Dean’s borrowed pillow. The angel was snoring lightly and Dean saw just a little bit of drool gathering at the corner of Castiel’s mouth.

Dean sighed and returned to his bedroom. He’d have to ask the angel tomorrow. For now, Dean dreamed and he tried to forget said dreams in the morning.

\---

The opportunity did not come. 

Dean was awoken in the middle of the night by his cell phone. The warm, safe dream faded from his memory fast. He was only left with the chilliness of the room, the straining erection in his boxers and the thought that he’d been having a good dream. He rubbed his eyes as his cell phone blared ‘Bad Moon Rising’. He immediately knew it was work and he knew that if it got to voicemail, the chief would just call right back. 

The phone chimed the chorus twice before it stopped. It started back up almost immediately after and Dean picked up the phone, “Hello?”

“Good Morning Sunshine,” The Chief, Rufus Turner, grinned, “So there’s two more bodies with your name on it.”

“Chief,” Dean groaned, “It’s four in the morning.”

“So grab yourself some coffee and get your ass to work.” His boss groaned. 

Dean exhaled as if he were annoyed but he was moving out of bed anyways, “What’s the address?”

There was a chime in his hear and then he heard Rufus speak up again, “I just texted you. Now call your brother.”

“Thanks.” Dean murmured. Rufus hung up on his end and Dean shuffled over to his closet. He dress quickly, not caring if his tie was on straight or if the sports coat was buttoned right. Dean stepped out into the hallway and looked at Sam’s bedroom door.

He stepped to the door pressed his palm flat against the wood. He exhaled softly as he imagined what laid just on the other side. Castiel was asleep on Sam’s futon, maybe still wrapped around Dean’s pillow. He was safe in Dean’s apartment, away from whatever was hunting him.

Dean gripped the wood, or maybe he wasn’t. Maybe Dean was going to a crime scene where he’d find Castiel, dead, wrapped in someone else’s arms. Suddenly, with such a deep burn in his heart, Dean found himself angry. The image of Castiel with someone else, with his mate that wasn’t Dean, made him so angry that he rushed right into the guest room.

Castiel was asleep, wrapped around the blankets and Dean’s pillow. His face was burrowed into the mattress, his mouth opened with just a little bit of drool at the corner of his mouth. All the rage that had been building inside of Dean released in a rush of air. Relief settled in and the coil of affection in his lower stomach. Castiel was safe.

With a burst of energy, Dean shut the door and dialed his brother’s number. He had to try twice until his brother answered sleepily. He gave the address and Sam vowed that he’d meet Dean there. The drive was not nearly long enough to remove the affection from Dean’s expression. He could feel himself fighting off a goofy smile as he approached the crime scene.

Jo was a first responder for this crime. She stood just in front of the tapped off area with a note pad. She waived Dean over with a tired smile, “I don’t like these double shifts.”

“Tell me about it.” Dean smiled warmly, “What do we have?”

Jo eyed him suspiciously, her bright eyes narrowed with suspicion, “Why are you so bright eyed and busy tailed?”

Dean tried to frown, “No reason. What’s the crime?”  
Jo let it go, ducking under the tape and guiding Dean over to the bodies, “We have Uriel Thompson and his lover, Darren Carlyle.”

Dean approached a well-built, dark skinned male that was sprawled across a grassy knoll. His arm was stretched out, hand gripped tightly in the hand of a burly, tanned man. As flashlights passed over the bodies, Dean caught the ashy pattern of wings stretching out around the bodies, centering from the back of Uriel Thompson. Part of the ashes were staining Darren Carlyle’s white henley, some ashes pooled inside the open chest cavity. 

The skin of Darren glittered as the lights passed over. His nails were a little longer, more pointy than a normal human male. His eyes, glossed over with death, were shaded gold. Dean wasn’t sure exactly what Darren Carlyle was, but he could tell it wasn’t human. The man’s chest was cut opened but in the poor light, Dean couldn’t see much.

“Do we know that cause of death?” Dean frowned, he reached into his suit pocket, looking for his flashlight. Jo handed him one from her utility belt and he squatted beside the bodies. 

“Exsanguination, like the others.” Jo announced, “The coroner was just here but he said he had to run.”

Dean nodded, “I’ll have to get his report later.”

Dean shined the flashlight on Darren Carlyle. He looked at every single rib bone, seeing the serrated edges of the bone. It appeared to be that the criminal had sawed away at Darren’s chest, straight down the middle. Whatever the killer had used to cut across the chest, it hadn’t struggled with the chest bone. Dean wondered if the weapon had been smooth and the breaking bone caused the uneven edges or if the weapon itself was jagged.

He shined the light into the chest cavity. He wasn’t surprised by what he saw. Darren’s heart was missing, the connecting arteries were still there, edges broken as if the killer had yanked the heart out. Dean moved the flashlight to Uriel’s chest. Uriel’s chest was open though the edges looked more like they’d been burned. It was as if a blow torch had set a line straight up Uriel’s chest, a fire that burned through bone. Once Dean looked inside the open chest cavity, the insides were completely ash. Where Uriel’s heart would be,was nothing more than a pile of cooled cinders. Dean wondered if all the other bodies looked like this.

“Does it fit the pattern?” He heard from above him. He looked up to see Sam hovering over the bodies.

Dean nodded, “Darren Carlyle’s chest was cut open and his heart was ripped out. Uriel’s chest looks burned.”

Sam looked at it, “I don’t remember the other bodies looking like this. Do you?”  
Dean shook his head and stood, “I think we’ll have to speak with the corner, get a copy of the his notes about the crime.”

Sam nodded and was ready to speak when Jo interrupted, “I’ll call him.”

Dean looked at her, curious as to why she suddenly stepped into their conversation. She gestured over to the edges of the crime scene. Dean followed her glance and spotted Castiel. He was staring at them, face stoic as he watched Dean. His hand was gripping the police tape, the plastic bent under Castiel’s grip.

Dean didn’t hesitate. He was up and across the field before he realized it. He stepped up to the angel, trying to hide his smile, “Hey, Cas.”

Castiel’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes were brighter when he spotted Dean, “Dean.”

“I thought you were going to sleep?” Dean sighed, “I didn’t wake you did I?”

Castiel didn’t answer. Instead he stepped away from the tape. Dean followed quickly, stepping up next to the angel. He heard the hollow sound of Sam crossing the grass to follow them. Castiel led them to a 24 hour diner just a block away from the crime scene. They sat in a booth in the corner, Dean and Castiel sitting close on one side with Same across from them.

Dean ordered a burger, Sam ordered pancakes but Castiel stared at the waitress when she asked him for his order. He stared at her, “Angels don’t need food.”

Dean elbowed the man, “He’ll take a bacon cheeseburger with ketchup and a coke.”

The waitress jotted it down and left them. They were quiet for some time, waiting for the food to come. Once everything was set out in front of them, the two boys began to eat. Castiel stared at his burger, then turned to look at Dean. He watched how Dean ate his own burger until the human nudged him.

Dean nodded to the burger, “Eat it.”

Castiel did, mimicking Dean’s actions. He seemed to enjoy it, eating the whole burger quickly. Sam resumed their conversation, looking at Castiel, “So, why aren’t there a bunch of angels flying around Earth?”

“Angels remain in heaven until we are of age.” Castiel sighed, staring at Dean’s hamburger like it was pure sex. Dean rolled his eyes and waited for Sam to turn before pushing his plate closer to Castiel. The angel gave him the sweetest look before taking a large bite. He moaned, a low rumble that vibrated against Dean and caused a tightness in his pants. When he was done chewing one large bite, he continued, “It is then that we take on human form and seek out our mate. Unless we have a human connection, we have no real identity and our bodies are not made with finger prints or scars.”

Dean frowned, “The hand print at the library didn’t have any markings. Do you think it’s another angel?”

Castiel watched Dean carefully. His eyes grew bright with a realization that terrified Castiel. It was as if the angel had suddenly realized everything, the reasons, the person, the future. The angel looked at Dean like it was the last time, “Yes.”

Dean reached for Castiel’s hand before the angel could disappear. Without much thought, he laced their fingers together, “Cas...”

But Dean wasn’t sure what to say, didn’t know how to say everything that would take the fear away from Castiel. He wanted to take on that weight that made Castiel’s shoulders slump forward and his eyes darken in fear. It was a feeling he’d only ever placed on Sammy and Dean wondered what that meant for himself and the angel.

“Have you found your mate yet, Cas?” Sam asked quietly, eyes watching the two intently.

Castiel held Dean’s gaze for a beat then turned to looked at Sam. He raised himself up, trying to appear larger and stronger than he really was, “Yes. But only recently.”

“Is there anyone in your past that wished they were your mate? Someone who would be upset with you for choosing someone else?”

Castiel’s hand squeezed Dean’s tightly. He blushed deeply, “Lucifer.”

Dean immediately hated this Lucifer. He put him on the top of his ‘Most want to Kill List’ right under Paris Hilton. He couldn’t understand the sudden possession he felt but it was at dangerous levels. He felt a growl begin to bubble up through his throat but Castiel looked at him, a scolding look that calmed Dean’s sudden fury. He cleared his throat, “Who is Lucifer?”

“A friend,” Castiel sighed, “We were close as children and he pursued me when I came of age. I,” Castiel hesitated, “I did not see him as my mate. Lucifer became angry, more so when I left heaven to seek out my mate. I believe he’s trying to find him to get to me.”

“He’s killing everyone you’ve met in hopes of killing you as well?” Sam frowned, “That’s a horrible guy.”

Castiel nodded, “And now that I have found out the angel behind this, I’ll return to my garrison. Thank you, Sam and Dean Winchester.”

Castiel slipped his hand out of Dean’s grip and stood. Before Dean had the chance, Castiel was gone, and the pain of that hurt more than anything Dean had ever felt. It was like his heart was breaking and Dean couldn’t breathe through it.

He found Sam’s face, filled with worry and the kind of sympathetic pain only his sensitive, girly brother could manage, “Dean....”

Dean stood, swallowing all these feelings and emotions, “Let’s go catch the bastard.”

\---

They perused all of the crime scenes, went over every body again with the perspective of mythical creatures involved and they still had no idea how to find Lucifer. One thing that Dean did noticed was that each corpse that was an angel was burned while the ‘mate’ had been sliced. The coroner wasn’t sure exactly how the bones were burned but he had agreed that the method was an instrument with fire. He explained that the corner of the bones, where they’d been separated, were all charred and the organs were ash inside. 

When they went over the notes back at Sam’s apartment, Jessica made them dinner. She looked over all the notes, listen to all of their explanations to the reason behind the crime. Dean event confronted Jessica about Castiel’s former friend, Lucifer. Jessica admitted she’d known of Lucifer through Castiel but had never met the angel herself. She had advised them, right before Dean returned to his lonely, chilling apartment, that Lucifer didn’t chose to leave heaven, but fell from it. And that was not something angels did.

Now Dean was lying on Sam’s futon, having failed to find comfort and rest in his own bed. He was curled around the same pillow Castiel had used the night before, sniffing the clothe in hopes of catching something that smelled like the angel. Dean realized, with great disappointment, that he had no idea what the angel smelled like, hadn’t known Castiel long enough to imprint him on his psyche. And yet, Dean’s heart was a painful weight that grew heavier the longer Castiel was away.

Dean could hardly breathe which meant there was very little sleep involved. It left him time to realize that maybe he was falling in love.

Right in the middle of Dean’s wonderful, horrible epiphany, the sound of glass breaking echoed around the room. He sat up, eyes immediately going to the single window in the room. The frame was broken, the glass was scattered across the carpet. In front of the mess was a lanky, serious blonde with a snarky grin and cold blue eyes slowly enter Sam’s room. He was dressed much like Dean would on a casual day, a worn tee shirt covered by a work shirt for warmth, carpenter jeans that had gone too many rounds in the washer. He was handsome and yet twisted, his entire aura filled with something evil and dark.

“Lucifer.” Dean snarled.

The angel laughed above the roaring thunder and lightning, “My reputation precedes me.”

Dean smirked, already measure how capable he was of sneaking to Sam’s closet and getting the gun he’d hid in there. The odds weren’t in his favor but that was Dean’s favorite kind of odds, “Only because Cas just got done telling me what an ugly douche bag you were.”

Lucifer snarled, face becoming something ugly, “Don’t you dare say his name, monkey. You don’t deserve him.”

Dean grabbed the pillow, ready to throw it, “Well neither do you!”

He tossed the pillow at Lucifer’s face and took the small distraction as an opportunity to get to the closet. He wasn’t fast enough. Lucifer recovered from the shock and was at Dean’s side in a second. He gripped the man’s shirt and tossed him across the room. Dean hit the wall with a solid thunk before falling to the bed. He groaned and tried to think of a plan B.

Lucifer laughed darkly as he approached the prone man, “I don’t see it. How could he have chosen you...no gotten stuck with you.”

Dean looked up at the angel, hands fumbling around the edges of the bed in hopes that Sam had left his pocket knife somewhere, “What do you mean?”

Lucifer threw his head back as the dark, sarcastic laugh ripped from his mouth, “Oh this is priceless. You don’t even know what’s happened.”

With Lucifer distracted, Dean found and gripped a solid metal object hidden in the folds of the sheets. His arm hummed with a strange electrical current the moment he grasped it, the feeling caused his heart to clench and his cock to swell. He waited for the perfect opportunity, the moment Lucifer would get close enough for an attack.

“You’ve interrupted all the alone time I get with Cas. It’s hard for him to explain anything.” Dean held his breath. Lucifer was a foot away and bending forward.

Lucifer grinned, eyes dark with something that made Dean shake with rage, “Or maybe he’s ashamed of you. Maybe he didn’t tell you out of fear that he’d be saddled with you, a human for the rest of his life. You know he can have all the sex he wants with me, so long as you two don’t ‘do the deed’ yourselves.”

Dean growled, his entire body on fire with rage. He shouted, forcing the feelings up and out of himself. He took the metal object and plunged it up into Lucifer’s stomach. There was a grunt, something that may have hinted that the stab had hurt but then Lucifer was laughing again. Dean stared in shock as Lucifer slowly rose to standing, the same thin silver blade Dean had seen at all the crime scenes was poking out from Lucifer’s stomach. Dean gasped, “What...?”

“You’re a fool,” Lucifer laughed, “I’m not so easy to kill. Especially when there is vermin in my way.”

There was a moment of deadly silence where Dean realized he was going to die. He was going to be killed without having said his goodbyes to Sammy, without telling Castiel that he feels something is starting between them. 

And then Castiel entered. He stood in the center of the room, just behind Lucifer. His eyes not on Dean and the human tried to stifle the annoyance that had caused. He placed a hand gently on Lucifer’s back, “Then I will have to do so.”

Lucifer turned to look at Castiel. He snorted in amusement, “Really, the little angel that could?”

Castiel nodded, determined. He stepped forward, hand reaching out for the sword. Lucifer moved away quickly, retreating to the corner of the room. A matching silver object appeared in his hand, Dean realized quickly that it was Lucifer’s own sword. Castiel glared at it, “Why did you do it, Lucifer? Why did you kill those angels?”

“You were meant to be with me, Castiel.” Lucifer snarled from his corner of the room, “All those times we spent together. We connected, Castiel. You were meant to be my mate.”

“I was nice to you, Lucifer.” Castiel stood firm, his arm was still stretched forward, his hand was still reaching for Lucifer. If Dean looked close enough, and did not get distracted by the jut of Castiel’s jaw, he could see Castiel was reaching for something, was concentrating on something. He looked back at Lucifer, looked at the sword deep in his gut. It shook just a little, vibrating inside the angel, “We were nothing more than friends.”

Lucifer stomped his foot, “No. We’re mates, Castiel. I feel it. It was wrong for you to speak to those other men. It’s wrong for you to feel so close to this human. We are perfect for each other,” Lucifer grasped at his chest, right where his heart would be, “Don’t you feel it right here?”

“No.” Castiel respond. His fingers tightened as if he was gripping something in the air.

“No.” Lucifer snarled, “No, no, no. You are so full of negative energy. That’s why you can’t feel our bond. But I feel it, I know its here. I know we’re meant to be together. And if you refused to acknowledge it, then I’ll just kill you and this pathetic monkey.” Lucifer raised his own sword and stared at Dean, “I couldn’t tell who you thought your mate was until you met this human creature. You just give of yourself to everyone you meet so I thought they were your mate. You have too much heart Castiel.”

“You killed innocent people you thought were my mate.” Castiel glared, “Just so you could kill me because we are not meant to be.”

Lucifer tapped his nose, “You are correct, Castiel. You are just so smart.” Lucifer took one step towards Dean, “And now you’ll be dead.”

The rebel angel moved forward, sword raised above his head. Castiel jerked his wrist back and suddenly the sword was in his hand. He grasped the hilt of the sword while Lucifer doubled over in pain, gripping the hole in his stomach. The area looked burned, the skin singed and dark while a bright blue light seeped out. Despite the obvious pain he must feel, Lucifer was still snickering, finding some ironic joy in Castiel’s violence. The younger angel raised his hand with the sword above his hand, preparing to kill Lucifer.

“You are going to kill me, brother?” Lucifer hissed, “Do you think you’ll make it to me faster than I will make it to your mate?”

Castiel’s eyes widened in fear, looking from the angel to Dean. Dean was still pressed against the bed, feeling more and more like the damsel in distress in their relationship. He barely had enough time to think. Suddenly Lucifer was looming over him, trying to shove the sword into Dean’s chest. Dean leaned further into the mattress, hands grasping Lucifer’s hands. He pressed against the angel, stopping the sword from plunging into him. Lucifer laughed loudly, “You’ll watch your mate die, Castiel. I’ll rip his heart like you took mine!”

Castiel was behind Lucifer, Dean could see him over the angel’s shoulder. Castiel plunged the weapon into Lucifer’s heart. The angel froze, shock evident on his face. Dean could see the surprise in his face, the hurt as he realized who had done the damage. The same bright light began to leak out from the wound, filtering out around the sword.

Lucifer moved slowly off of Dean, falling against the side wall. He gave Castiel a hurtful look, “Why?”

Castiel stood straight, face devoid of any emotion. Dean could feel his heart pound wildly in his chest, heavy with something akin to grief. He wondered if that was the bound, if he was taking on the pain Castiel couldn’t bear to hold in himself. Dean found himself willing to take the burden, prepared to feel all the weight of sadness and pain so that Castiel may be at peace. The angel breathed in and took measured, even steps towards his dying brother. He took Lucifer’s slowly burning cheek in the palm of his hand and looked right into the killer’s eyes, “Because you threatened my mate.”

Lucifer stared wide eyed at Castiel. He opened his mouth as if he were going to say something to Castiel, but the blue eyed angel took hold of the weapon and pushed it deeper into Lucifer’s heart. There was an explosion of the eerie light and a scream that made Dean’s ear’s ring. But Dean did not get the chance to see the light. He was enveloped in something warm and feathery, held close to Castiel’s chest. He closed his eyes tightly and concentrated to the sound of Castiel’s heartbeat pounding against his ear.

When the angel moved away, Lucifer was lying on the ground, the imprint of wings burned into the carpet and part of the futon. Embers still fell around them, creating a scene that reminded Dean of his mother’s snow globe collection. Dean’s heart hammered in his chest, heavy with something which only grew stronger when Castiel pulled away from him. The angel and his large, dark wings still loomed over Dean, the angel’s body was still sprawled across his lap but Castiel had moved far enough to connect with Dean’s eyes.

They stared at each other, Dean lost in the liquid blue set against pale, flushed skin. He was frozen in the fear that this was an illusion, a dream...or maybe heaven. 

He reached out to touch Castiel’s face but settled for the angel’s shoulder, he smiled, “Hey buddy.”

The tension in Castiel’s body melted away and he fell back into Dean’s warmth. The angel’s arms wrapped around Dean’s shoulder and hips, the wings circling him as well. Dean folded his own arms over Castiel’s shoulder and lower back, pulling the angel closer to him. Dean eased back onto the bed, taking Castiel with him until the angel was leaning over him. Dean watched those bright blue eyes darken with something heady, “Cas...”

“I’m sorry Dean,” Castiel whispered, “I didn’t mean to bring you into this. I didn’t want to put you in danger. I tried to find him before he found you but Lucifer was a step ahead.”

Dean chuckled, “It’s alright.” He moved one arm back to rest against Castiel’s chest, his hand palmed Castiel’s cheek, stroking his thumb across the bone, “Was he right?”

Castiel was quiet for a moment, like he was hesitating, judging Dean’s reaction to see if it was wise. Dean only smiled softly and tried to be as encouraging as possible. Castiel exhaled in a completely un-angelic way. It was a huff of a breath that spread across Dean’s face and made the human laugh, “Would you be upset if he was?”

Dean didn’t respond, just leaned into Castiel and placed a chaste kiss on his chapped lips. He moved his fingers lower from Castiel’s cheek to his chest. He placed his palm open against the area where the angel’s heart was still beating wildly. Castiel shuttered under the attention. Dean’s other hand splayed across Castiel’s lower spine, pushing their hips closer together. Castiel leaned forward while Dean pushed upwards, meeting in the middle for another kiss, a deeper kiss. It was the kind of kiss that said everything Dean felt.

At the moment, it didn’t matter that they needed to report Lucifer’s body or tell Sam they closed the case. It didn’t matter that Castiel hadn’t explained anything and Dean hadn’t told him his feelings. All that mattered was Castiel’s heartbeat under his fingers and kissing the life out of the angel. His angel.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to thank the amazing **davynn** for the awesome beta job. I totally adore you and I appreciate all the work you put into to fixing my grade school mistakes. I'd also like to thank **cassiopeia7** not only for the beautiful artwork but for being completely ontop of this story. Real-life pulled me away from the fandom but she was patient enough to all me to get my focus back and finish this story. Also she too on some of the beta work and made this story just so amazing. I want to thank you for all of your work and it was an honor to work with you!
> 
> This is my first submission ever into the **Dean/Castiel Big Bang Challenge**. It was fun and I hope for another round next year. Thank you to everyone for taking the time to read this story as well. Enjoy :)


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